


Youngblood

by jaxxOnasty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, bucky's a hoe, sam doesn't need a stepdaddy, this a mess, tony's old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 20:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16667707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaxxOnasty/pseuds/jaxxOnasty
Summary: “Yeah, I’m actually seeking out your company. Funny, huh? I have a proposition…”And just like that, Bucky’s mind was full of all the ways they could fulfill whatever proposition the man had in mind; in the back of his car, the restroom, the coat room, that large plant in the corner.“...so I feel like you’re not listening to me which is weird because I’m pretty sure I haven’t been stared at this hard since the time with those silver pants.”Oh yeah, Stark was talking. “What?”“The nineties were a strange time.”-In which Tony is old and Bucky likes that sort of thing.





	Youngblood

**Author's Note:**

> This is lightweight trifling. Good luck.

With one arm curled around his great-grandbaby, Maggie, and his free hand forking through the “99” scrawled across his piece of birthday cake, Gabriel Jones turned to James Buchanan Barnes and gruffly said, “Settle something for me, Buck.”

The man tore his gaze away from a scene Gabe was pointedly ignoring - his granddaughter flirting with an increasingly red Steve Rogers - and smiled at him. “Sure thing.”

Gabe laughed, a quiet, hoarse thing, and set Maggie down so she could take off running, then he leaned against the arm of his rocking chair and motioned Bucky closer. “You remember me and Frenchie’s tally, right?”

With a snort, Bucky shook his head ruefully, but his smile went slick. “I remember you were losing it.”

“And I remember when you used to be on my side with this shit cuz you stayed losing too.” Both men let out grumbles of laughter, their minds wandering to those distant days in Europe, but Bucky figured Gabe remembered them a little better than he ever would. He knew the memories were there - he could definitely recall Frenchie and Gabe arguing in the former’s mother tongue over a rumpled notebook, keeping score of batted eyelashes and stolen kisses from each brief moment of leave they had between missions, but he could only remember it now that Gabe had mentioned it. So many of his memories piggybacked off of his old friends’ own recollections that Bucky could hardly even stress over it anymore - it was an every day, several times a day occurrence. By now, remembering was old hat.

He still frowned up whenever he had to, nevertheless.

Red-faced, but wily, Steve had stepped into the conversation, tucking the phone with the newly acquired number of Gabe’s granddaughter in his pocket. “Why’s Buck lookin’ like he’s gonna pop a vein in his forehead. Gabe askin’ you to do math?”

Gabe howled at that while Bucky slapped Steve’s side. “No, punk. Just some memories I can’t sort out.”

“The green-eyed girl in France, Cap,” Gabe urged as the corners of Bucky’s mouth were weighed down with confusion. “With the sisters? Dragged Bucky away every night we were there.”

“Yeah, the sisters.” Steve had a sly smile on his face and seemed surprised that Bucky couldn’t remember, even though he was familiar with the way his memory could go. “You’ll remember in a minute, Buck,” he assured, then he began to describe the little village. The bar, the library Jim literally got lost in, the bread shop, the goods store...

“With the tailor shop tucked in the back,” Bucky finished, his lips curling up as his friends crowed enthusiastically.

“And the sisters lived in that little apartment above the tailor shop. And you and the green-eyed one-”

“Their father owned the tailor shop,” he said and Steve just stopped talking at his quiet interruption in the way he did nowadays, not wanting to impede any of his progress in any way. “His name was Renny… And he always ripped the buttons off my shirt, but he always fixed them when we were finished.” Bucky smiled at that part of the memory, the lines that had formed on his forehead from the struggle of it smoothing away even as his friends gaped at him. “I can’t for the life of me remember what his daughters looked like, but that man was amazing.”

“He had to be at least sixty, Buck,” Steve said, laughter starting to bubble up in his expression, but Bucky could only shrug.

Gabe only tutted. “It’s bad enough I gotta watch Steve around my grandkids, but now you’re telling me I gotta watch my virtue around you, too?”

-

With the memory of Renny came a lot of time with Buck’s flesh and bone hand down the front of his pants.

It was like a switch went off and his libido had awoken now that it knew what he was attracted to again. He didn’t think it was a fetish - several of the SHIELD engineers that regularly tested his arm were older and good-looking, but they never stirred anything in him but a drive to achieve better. Which he supposed was a good thing in the work environment.

Still.

Nick Fury… was a professional and had definitely cut eyes - eye at Bucky the first time the assassin’s gaze had lingered too long on his trim waist and long, long legs. So that was a no go, even though Steve practically begged him to try it between bouts of laughter every time Bucky got even slightly red in the face around their director.

But once he was tagged and let back out into the wild, he found himself people watching more and more in the stores he went to, the sites he visited. He found himself searching out laugh lines and easy strides, silver hair and the charm that comes from…  _ experience _ .

It may have taken him awhile to recall how to talk someone into his bed, but it didn’t take long at all to remember how much he enjoyed having that experience in his arms, cradling that confidence in his lap. The metal arm was a bit of a deterrent for the more mundane, so he kept his conquests within the ever growing circle of exasperated civilians that had to deal with superhero shit, which Agent Johnson liked to refer to as ‘The Claires’ for whatever reason. Jim Morita, he and Steve discovered, had a grandson who was the principal of an amazing school for amazing students and a granddaughter that told Bucky that he made her feel forty again. Clint might still be pissed at him for making a pass at Laura’s father, but the man had started it himself in the barn. And though she never seemed to want to give him the time of day, Agent May had once smirked at him in the mess, so it counted.

There was always a gala, a birthday, even a movie night where he could be social and meet someone to wrap around for the night and forget that he was no longer James Buchanan from 1942. And sure, he felt a little empty in the mornings when he’d be smiled at indulgently like the pretty young thing he’d begged to be treated as the night before, but at least he got some sleep even if he never got the invite to stay for breakfast.

“If you think I’m letting that menace anywhere near my momma, you better check that onesie of yours ain’t cutting off the circulation to your brain,” Sam said point blank in Steve’s kitchen one morning while the three of them were discussing the seating arrangements at the Maria Stark Foundation anniversary dinner. He was cutting eyes at Bucky, who held up his hands to show that he meant no harm. (Despite the switchblade he was still twirling between the fingers of his flesh and blood hand.) “Don’t even, Barnes. You know you got a problem. Everyone knows about Clint’s father-in-law-”

“That was one time…”

“And that SHIELD Academy professor-”

“She was a nice lady,” Bucky grumbled while his stupid best friend giggled into his Froot Loops.

“-I was talking about that boring ass Vaughn dude, but thanks for further proving my point,” said a rather smug looking Falcon. “I’m not letting your hoe ass around my momma. Darlene’s vulnerable and I don’t want a stepdad. You gotta sit somewhere else tonight, fam.”

After whacking Steve on the back to dislodge the cereal stuck in his throat, Bucky agreed and that’s how he got stuck sitting at the worst table to have inappropriate thoughts at that night - Stark’s. Not only were there three very, very beautiful (and widowed) ladies at the table, but then there was Stark whom Bucky had been avoiding since the Thanos of it all, gesticulating and smiling and joking and charming and wearing a suit like he was born in it and giving Buck every reason to have a boner right there at dinner, but he couldn’t because he was a professional. Damn it.

And on top of it all, he was sitting at the fucking kids table with Stark. Mrs. Parker was there and gorgeous and of course had Spider-Kid with her and he had even brought a date, a girl who looked like she was only at the dinner to blog about everything that was wrong with it afterwards. There was some kid Stark introduced as Harley and his mom and sister. And lastly there was a girl that had reversed engineered the Iron Man suit from seeing it two years ago on TV while she was at MIT who was apparently being honored tonight, but Bucky couldn’t care less because her mother, Mrs. Williams, looked amazing and Sam had bet him a cool 2k that he would end up fucking someone’s parent tonight and he didn’t want to lose to that fucking bird man. Again.

Eventually the dinner portion of the night ended, so while people made their way to the dance floor, Bucky made his towards the bar, hoping that he could linger there for a few moments, be seen by Natasha and Wanda as being responsible and showing his face at more Avenger events as was his publicist assigned obligation and then sneak the fuck off somewhere so he could get his dick wet somehow.

“That’s a face.”

“It’s mine, get your own,” he drawled back before deepening his frown, but he moved his knees so Stark could climb onto the stool beside him. When the billionaire shook his head at the bartender’s gesture, he raised a brow in question. Tony just laughed.

“Yeah, I’m actually seeking out your company. Funny, huh? I have a proposition…”

And just like that, Bucky’s mind was full of all the ways they could fulfill whatever proposition the man had in mind; in the back of his car, the restroom, the coat room, that large plant in the corner.

“...so I feel like you’re not listening to me which is weird because I’m pretty sure I haven’t been stared at this hard since the time with those silver pants.”

Oh yeah, Stark was talking. “What?”

“The nineties were a strange time.”

“No, the not listening thing,” Bucky amended, rolling his eyes at the other’s playful grin. “You had a proposition?”

“Yes. I wanted to know if you’d be interested in mentoring the younger Avengers. I know they’re kids and I’m not supposed to call them Avengers technically,” he snorted with a handwave, then continued, “but they’re gonna get into all this mess - and RiRi said something about meeting a vampire or something - it’s already a lot. And I just thought that… you know, we’ve seen the worst it can get, so we should prepare them for it.”

“You mean like we weren’t?” Bucky managed to say instead of ‘So we’re not fucking?’ Tony just nodded and rubbed at his temples, looking stressed and… old. But not in the sexy way Bucky liked; he looked tired. “Let’s dance.”

“Huh?”

He was standing before he had even realized it, holding a hand out to the billionaire. At least Stark was starting to lose that stressed look - sure he replaced the expression with confusion, but the stress looked like it had faded. But Buck was reminded quickly that the man was probably on par with Natalia for an unreadable poker face once Stark’s fingers curled around his and the confusion, too, was gone like a trick of light.

“So this isn’t weird at all,” Stark mused, leading Bucky into a relatively easy waltz the soldier was sure he started to throw him off, but if he was surprised at how confidently Bucky fell into it, that poker face certainly refused to show that.

After a few steps, Bucky realized the other man actually wanted a response to his statement, so he simply hummed.

“Yup, not weird. At all.”

“You don’t like to dance, Mr. Stark?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” the man replied, spinning their simple steps into a full on Viennese waltz and even though they were sure to end up on the news that night looking utterly ridiculous, both men couldn’t help but beam at one another. And when the music stopped (David Bowie) and when Stark took a step back and straightened his tie (Tom Ford), Bucky could tell from the glint in those brown eyes that the shot he had tossed had made it (Kobe).

-

Pressing Tony Stark face first into a mattress turned out to be one of the most submissive things Bucky had ever done.

With his body covering Stark’s completely while the man’s ridiculous eyelashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks, Bucky should have been given a kick of control, but the soldier could do nothing more than mouth uselessly against the silver hairs at the billionaire’s nape and grind his hips down. One of Stark’s hands was linked around his metal wrist, effectively pinning  _ Bucky _ to the bed, the other stayed in Bucky’s hair, tugging harder and harder with every thrust of hips between them.

“So hot… inside…”

“Yeah, I feel good, don’t I?” Even if Bucky couldn’t see the man’s chest puff up from the declaration, he could certainly feel it in the way his body was now arching. “So hot and deep… I’m empty, baby, you should come in me. Fill it up.” Bucky growled into the side of the other man’s neck and snapped his hips forward hard - once, twice, a third time and… “Good boy,” Stark was saying, “But don’t stop. Come in me again.”

His body never felt so heavy, but he managed to push himself onto his knees and twist Stark onto his side. The other man curled around a pillow and smiled coyly, an invitation for Bucky to  _ try _ and do his worst. He got a few good thrusts in, something he was proud of until Stark let out a groan that he was sure to hear in dreams for years to come. “There?”

“Perfect,” the man agreed, turning his head and offering his mouth. Bucky was soon covering him completely again, arms wrapped around his chest, hips fucking in short, shallow, almost teasing thrusts that Stark seemed to love if the hitch in his breathing was anything to go by. Bucky ate up every moan, licked into each new whine, desperate to keep his mouth latched to Stark’s until one of them or the world collapsed. But then Stark pulled back and pushed him off.

Confused and a little hurt, he tensed, preparing for his dismissal, but Stark just rolled onto his back with the explanation, “I can’t come like that.” Then he pulled Bucky on top and right back into his kisses. Bucky came again screaming a few moments later with stocky legs curled around his ass and taunts and praises and heated questions in his ear.

“I like it! I do like it,” he confessed, earning a few dark chuckles and an even tighter vise around his dick. “Oh God.”

“Now make me come, greedy boy,” Stark commanded and Bucky only nodded in agreement and planted his knees into the bed, the hotel’s ridiculously soft mattress top frustratingly not giving him enough purchase to fuck into the other man the way he wanted, but Stark didn’t seem to mind. The man’s eyes were squeezed closed tight, crows feet deep and lickable, plump bottom lip pinched between his teeth and Adams apple jumping with every new octave of moan. Bucky reached between them and curled his fingers around the other’s length, loving the way it further hardened against his palm. “Yes, baby. C’mon, yes,” Stark whispered, ever closer to letting Bucky watch him come apart. And then he did, his body tensing ridiculously, his back bowing off the bed, a loud growl echoing through the room; fucking perfect, just like Bucky knew it would be.

He rolled off of Stark instead of nuzzling into him like he wanted to and watched the man sit up and crack his neck. “Would it be gauche of me to say you’ve been trained well?”

“Thank you.”

Stark chuckled at the breathy answer and then reached for Bucky’s arm to tug him up. “Come on, youngblood. In my lap now.”

Once Bucky was properly straddling him, Stark licked his palm and proceeded to give him the best handjob he’d had this side of the Cold War. He pressed his forehead against Stark’s shoulder and just stared down at the way the man handled him -  a twist, a pull, thumb over the slick head of him, another twist, how’d his fingers get there? - until he came a last time with a sob and fingers scrambling across the other’s back. Stark tsked as he kissed the tears from the corners of his eyes and held him until it no longer felt like he was going to float off the bed and bounce into the ceiling. And then held him a little longer after that. “Good?”

“Sam owes me two thousand dollars.”

“Why?”

“You don’t have kids, right?”

“Unless your knockoff serum does more than give you multiple orgasms, as of right now? No.”

“Sam owes me two thousand dollars.” He let Stark adjust their positions until he was cuddling into the other man’s side, cumdrunk stupid and exhausted. “I want you inside me next time.”

“Sure thing, cradle-robber.”


End file.
